


Finding William

by lyricwritesprose



Series: Tales of the Them [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam-Centric, Gen, partially epistolary fic, the relationships are very much in the background here, warning for strictly temporary and offscreen infant death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricwritesprose/pseuds/lyricwritesprose
Summary: Adam Young has good parents.  That's part of how he turned out so well.  That's part of why he chose the side of humanity.  But what happens when his parents are challenged with the truth about Adam?  And why don't they remember, when they heard it before?





	1. Action

Okay. Mum and Dad. I’ve got a lot of things I’ve got to tell you, and I know it’s going to be tough for you to hear, because I’ve done this before. Just—wait until I’m finished, okay?

First off, I have magic powers. See?

Right now, I can’t do much more than float a teacup. I’m still recovering.  _ Normally, _ I can do a whole lot more. That’s how you found out the first time, up in Hog Back Wood.

Yeah, you did. You just don’t remember it, because it didn’t happen. Did and didn’t happen. Both. I can picture it in my head, but I don’t know how to explain it. I think maybe the vocabulary hasn’t been invented. Maybe it makes sense in Enochian. I could try to bother Aziraphale until he teaches me Enochian . . . but that’s a different part of the story, I’ll tell you about him later.

Remember that sleep over, last weekend? We got together at Brian’s house and watched old science fiction movies. That’s still the same, I’d know if it had changed. But I didn’t plug in my mobile all night because I forgot the charging cord, and then in the morning we went up to Hog Back Wood with what was frankly a  _ brilliant _ idea, but my mobile was off, so you were already looking for me and I didn't know it.

I don’t know if you ever watched that E.T. movie—you did? Good. So you know the bit we were looking at. The bit where they fly the bikes. All it takes is bikes and magic powers, and—

No, it won’t  _ give out _ in mid-air. I  _ can _ get tired, I can run out of energy, but not from something simple like lifting bikes. And I have a lot of warning, I can feel myself getting emptier. Usually. Didn’t know exactly how that felt until two nights ago, but—look, the problem wasn’t power, the problem was that I bashed Brian into a tree because I was in  _ front _ and I couldn’t see exactly where he was going. But he was fine, he just skinned his leg a bit. Looking back on it, I think it would have worked better if I had been in the back, where I can see all the other bikes. I could control them better. Only thing was, Dog was being E.T, and I had the bike with the basket. And we put E.T. in front because that’s how the movie went.

Anyhow, it was going great except that we were all yelling at each other, and you—Mum—came up into Hog Back Wood and caught us at it, twelve feet in the air and screaming a bit, because my mobile was off and you couldn’t find me.

You said some pretty bad words.

I promised I would explain, and we went home, and you called Dad, and along the way you told me that I was  _ never, ever _ allowed to do the speeder bike scene from  _ Return of the Jedi. _ I mean, I think I  _ could, _ Crowley goes that fast and he’s never killed anyone—with his car, anyway—but . . .

I’m getting to him.

Anyway, we got home, and Dad came home, and I levitated something to show him, and then once  _ he _ settled down and you two had some tea, I started telling the story. And that’s where we get to Crowley.

Crowley is a demon. I mean, he’s an actual demon, an angel that fell, with wings and everything when he wants them. He’s not a very good demon, mostly because he doesn’t  _ want _ to be a very good demon. I mean, you think  _ I’m _ good at skiving off, we’re talking about someone who has been inventing new and better ways to skive off for about six thousand years, which coincidentally is the age of the Earth—no, yeah, it  _ is. _ I have it from people who were there. And given everything else that happened, I believe them.

Twelve years ago, Crowley was handed an assignment by Hell. He was given a baby and told to make sure that the baby was exchanged for a baby belonging to an American diplomat. The kid was going to grow up to be the Antichrist and end the world. It all happened—well, I was going to say that it all happened at the convent where I was born, but the thing is, I  _ was _ the baby—the baby was me—and in that part of time I’m not sure where or how or even if I was born. Time is different now. It’s one of those things.

The key thing is, Crowley didn’t supervise the whole process, and the nuns mixed it up somehow, and they gave me to you, not the Americans. And Crowley went back to his angel boyfriend—I told you he wasn’t a very good demon—and they got drunk and started planning how to stop Armageddon, which mainly came down to, “Make sure the Antichrist doesn’t turn out too evil.” But of course they still thought it was the American kid.

Honestly, I think it would have been an uphill battle and I’m not sure how it would have turned out, because Warlock—that’s the other kid’s name, because the nuns that ran that place were actually Satanic and they wanted to see the whole Antichrist thing done right—anyhow, Warlock was raised rich, by parents with more issues than sense, and I’m not sure what that would have done to him when the voices—

No. No. I’ll talk about that in a bit.

Armageddon was set to kick off when the Antichrist turned eleven. Something to do with eleven-year-olds having more raw power of imagination than any individual angel or demon, and that  _ does _ include the big one down below, who I still don’t say the name of because I don’t know for sure that he doesn’t google himself. Crowley says it’s a popular pastime in Hell, googling yourself. He says that there was a demon who used to do it obsessively, but then Crowley found the most odious writer in America and gave him some ideas, and the writer started putting this demon’s name in his home-made mythology, and these days you can’t throw a half-brick without finding a Dungeons and Dragons player who’s using the name for an evil god or something, and so these days Hastur can’t look up who’s been using his name without this  _ roar _ of search results from every corner of the globe, and it gives him a wicked headache. Which sort of goes to show that Crowley could probably demon all right if he wanted to because he’s  _ aces _ at petty vengeance.

Right. Yeah. Eleven. Last year.

The thing that started it—and it’s a necessary first step, losing that bit would have thrown everything off—was that Hell sent a Hellhound to the Antichrist, and the Antichrist was supposed to name it. To  _ define _ it. Hellhounds are sort of amorphous until they’re named. They don’t have a personality as such, or even a set shape. So if I’d named it Killer, it would have done anything to kill a person, and if I’d named it Despair, it would have been more clever and more sadistic, and so forth. I don’t think anyone even  _ thought _ about what would happen if I named it Dog.

Yeah.

No, that’s just the thing. Dog’s a  _ dog. _ That’s how I defined him. He’s cleverer than the average dog, and his supernatural senses are probably better even than angels and demons, but he’s basically a dog, and that’s how he thinks.

So, that started the Apocalypse, but sort of off-kilter. The next thing that happened—I think the next thing that happened was me stopping by Miss Device’s house and actually getting interested in all the things messing up the world. Because she knows all about that, you know. How they’re cutting down the Amazon rainforest, and global warming and the lot. So I started thinking, like I hadn’t before. About all that the grown-ups had done to the world, and whether we’re going to have anything left when  _ we _ get to be grown-ups, and the bit where there are a few rich bastards—sorry—who run everything and there are people sleeping under bridges and the people under bridges have  _ hurt less people, _ and the more I looked at it, the more the world looked fundamentally unfair from top to bottom, and that’s when they started talking to me.

I don’t know what they were exactly. Except horrid.

It got into my head—you’ve got to understand, when I say  _ talking, _ I don’t exactly mean  _ talking at me, _ I mean more  _ thinking into me. _ It got into my head that the world was just going to get worse and worse, this ghastly grind of unfair after unfair after unfair, and the only thing to do was to burn it down and start it over, and the only person who could do that was me.

So I called the Them together in Hog Back Wood, and I talked to them about it.

That was the first time that Pepper and Wensley and Brian saved the world. Because they argued with me. They said that the world was for  _ fixing, _ not destroying. They said that they didn’t  _ want _ to be the rulers of the world, that they’d rather have their Mums and Dads. I didn’t listen. I made them be quiet, I made them smile—I don’t want to talk about that bit. Wensley says it was the most frightening thing ever in his life, and he stopped reading any fantasy for almost a half a year because all he could think about was what people  _ with _ powers could do to people  _ without _ them.

But finally, they all ran away from me. Even Dog. Because I’d named him Dog, you see. Because I’d made him an  _ actual dog, _ and actual dogs get frightened when people act all wrong, just like people do.

I remember screaming. I think I screamed all the voices out of my head. I think they fought me, I think they tried to tell me that I didn’t need friends, that I could have slaves instead, and I could have everything, but the fact was that I didn’t  _ want  _ “everything,” I wanted the people I loved not to be frightened of me, so I shoved, and something  _ ripped, _ and I fainted.

And when I woke up, there wasn’t anything in my head but me, and the Them were standing over me, and Brian was wondering about killing me with a cricket bat. But he didn’t once he saw that I was back properly.

No, it wasn’t over. Because I’d already set it in motion. I’d called the Horsemen. Well, Horse-people. Bikers, actually. The  _ forms _ are all a little wobbly, they’re basically humanity’s biggest nightmares. Used to be War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death, but Pestilence sort of went out when vaccines came in. Crowley says that he thinks he encountered her remnants once, posting anti-vax messages on the internet. He likes to mess about with flat Earthers for fun. But it just goes to show, the horsemen are incredibly powerful, but they’re also incredibly  _ brittle. _ What’s-his-name Salk just about killed a Biblical monster, and he never even realized it.

Well, yeah, I know that he didn’t actually kill  _ disease. _ Aziraphale talks about the eighties sometimes—Aziraphale doesn’t like to talk about the eighties—

Aziraphale is Crowley’s angel boyfriend. That’s the thing, there were more people trying to stop Armageddon than just the four of us. There was Miss Device and Mr. Pulsifer, who were following a prophecy book. There was Aziraphale and Crowley, only they quarreled over it and got separated and Aziraphale got killed and had to haunt this medium called Madame Tracy, which means that Madame Tracy and her idiot boyfriend Sergeant Shadwell—I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t say that, but he is _ — _ got dragged into the whole business. We all arrived at the air force base at once. Because that’s where the Horse-people were. They were using that base to control all the computerized weapons in the world, and there was going to be a nuclear exchange, and everyone would die except me.

Miss Device and Mr. Pulsifer stopped the computers. Mr. Pulsifer is something called a techbane, which means that electrical things just die around him, and Miss Device has the brains to use that. They followed the prophecy and stopped that part.

The four of us, the Them, lined up against the four Horse-people.

About that time, Crowley and Aziraphale arrived. Both of them had talked themselves into thinking that the only way to stop the Apocalypse was to kill the Antichrist, so Aziraphale tried to take a shot at me with this wicked-looking antique gun that shot bricks. But he was sort of a ghost at the time, haunting Madame Tracy's body, and she wrestled him so the gun just shot at the sky. It frightened me a bit—not even so much the thought of being shot, but the thought of people who get inside people and make them do things—so I put him back in his right body. And then we faced the Horse-people.

The thing about nightmares is, they can’t stand up against someone who is really believing as hard as they can. Pepper kicked War and took her sword away and stabbed her. Then Brian got Pollution and Wensley killed Famine. As long as War and Pollution and Famine are a thing, I think humans will probably imagine them back, but they're gone  _ now, _ and I think sometimes that's the best you can do.

That left Death.

Death isn't like the rest of them, I don't think. I think he may have even known that Armageddon would fail, and just played his part. He frightened me, but I told him to go, and he went. I don't think he had to. And it's not like he's ever exactly gone.

So that was the Apocalypse. It didn't Apoc, or whatever.

It turns out people weren't happy with that.

Next thing I knew, there was a lawyer and a bug hat person trying to get me to start it all over again. I learned later that they were the Archangel Gabriel and Lord Beelzebub. And both of them wanted a war between Heaven and Hell. Or maybe they sort of wanted to finish the original, the one that made the Fall happen. Finally see whose gang was better, sort of thing. Sometimes I wonder if the whole point of angels Falling was just to separate the two factions, that it wasn't about judgment or any of that. Crowley would say that didn't make it any less cruel . . .

Crowley and Aziraphale. They had come over by that time, and they talked to Gabriel and Beelzebub. Basically, Aziraphale pointed out that they had no idea what God  _ actually _ wants, and they talked for a bit, and since it was clear that I wouldn't do anything to help them, they left. I don't think it would have worked, except I could sort of see it in Gabriel, that Aziraphale was  _ right. _ Gabriel kept claiming to speak for God, he kept saying he was the north star for goodness and rightness and everything holy, but he didn't even know if God was still there. He was a sham. He would never let on, but Aziraphale scared him, knowing that.

Beelzebub did more damage in the end. Because they went and told my original father. You know. Down There.

The ground started shaking, and there was this feeling. Like being in a nightmare. I don't know how badly the Them felt it, but I was too petrified to breathe. I didn’t even notice Aziraphale yelling at Crowley until Crowley did  _ something, _ and then we were—somewhere else.

It was—listen, you don’t know what time passing actually  _ feels  _ like, because you’ve never felt time  _ not _ passing, but I felt it not passing. It was like not having a heartbeat. There was sand all around, except I’m not sure it was sand, I think it might have been picoseconds or something. Aziraphale and Crowley were there, and they talked to me. Crowley told me what was happening—that Him Downstairs was my father, that he was coming, and that I had the power to stop it somehow. I said I didn’t, that I was just a human kid, and Aziraphale said that human was about the best thing I could be, better than being an avatar of goodness  _ or _ evil. They said that fighting wasn’t going to stop Him Downstairs, but I had the power to  _ change _ things, and if I changed things, I could stop him.

Then Crowley restarted time.

Him Downstairs—come upstairs, now—was enormous. You watch monster movies, like Godzilla, and they’re good fun and you don’t understand what it is to see something  _ huge _ like that, something that could grab you up in one hand. It goes straight through to your stomach. You feel like your knees will buckle. But he started talking, in this deep, horrible voice, about his son. And then I knew what I had to change.

I told him that he wasn’t my Dad.

I told him that Dads don’t work like that. The  _ definition _ of a Dad, is someone who’s there. I told him that if I was going to be in trouble, it was going to be with  _ my real Dad, _ and then I stood there and wanted you with every part of me, and something inside me  _ reached back, _ and Him Downstairs blew away like smoke.

I had changed time. Changed time so that I had been born the normal way, to you. The events of Armageddon—didn’t  _ erase, _ exactly, but they were buried under the time that came on top of them. I remember a sort of ripple of fixing things, sweeping out from me. And the next thing I knew, you had grounded me for sneaking onto the airbase.

And  _ that _ was the end of Armageddon.

Things went back to normal. The Them decided to trust me. After a few months, Aziraphale and Crowley came around to check up on me, and sort of adopted me as a godson. Stuff just generally went on. Eventually Wensley was all right with me using some powers for our games, and we did some wicked cool stuff.

That was the story I told you last Saturday, when you caught us doing wicked cool stuff. And it was all true.

You were upset, just like you are now. You gave me that look. Then finally, Mum asked me where Aziraphale and Crowley were.

Thing is, they were at Jasmine Cottage. Because I was afraid of telling you. It had crept into my head, over the last year: I had chosen you, absolutely, down to my DNA, but you hadn’t had the chance to choose  _ me. _ And you didn’t have to. I knew it wouldn’t mean anything if you had to, but at the same time I was terrified you wouldn’t. So I had texted Aziraphale and Crowley—well, Crowley, Aziraphale doesn’t have a mobile—and they came to Jasmine Cottage while we were waiting for Dad to get home so I could tell the story to both of you. Just in case you didn’t want me anymore.

Sometimes they’re a bit rubbish, but it  _ helps, _ having people who say that they’ll stand by you whatever happens.

You went sort of white around the lips, Mum, and you led us over to Jasmine Cottage. Miss Device answered the door. Then you marched right up to Aziraphale—you pretty much guessed which one he was, which isn’t surprising, because Crowley is  _ really committed _ to looking like the sinister one—and you drew back your hand, and you  _ almost _ slapped him.

I said  _ almost, _ because right before the slap landed, you were grabbed, and you looked over to see what grabbed you, and you started screaming.

Crowley doesn’t  _ have _ to look like a person. And he really, really doesn’t like people threatening Aziraphale.

Aziraphale calmed everything down. I don’t like the way he did it, but he did it. He sort of convinced everyone that they didn’t actually  _ need _ that memory, that it was enough to know they’d looked at something bad, and when people agreed, he took the image out of everyone’s head. Then he sat and talked to you for a while. He didn’t try to convince you that he’d done the right thing, or even that he was nice. He was sort of matter of fact about it—yes, he tried to shoot me, yes, it was wrong. I don’t think you trusted him. I think you settled down mostly because Crowley was doing his very best lurk in the background, and you kept shooting glances at him. You didn’t want him to do the thing again, even if you didn’t know exactly what it was.

So we went home with nothing settled, and you told me not to see them again, and not to hang around Jasmine Cottage because you couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t come round, and I got cross and slammed some doors and texted the Them and went to sleep angry, and that’s how it was for three days.

I knew you’d been talking, you and Dad, but I didn’t know what about.

Finally, Mum, you asked me if I could text Crowley. Said you wanted to talk with him. You looked sort of grey.

I texted him, and he came over. And he kept glaring at you, and you kept twisting your hands as you talked.

Here’s the thing. You remembered how I talked about when I was born. How there was another baby that I was switched for. You’d got it into your head that that was my twin brother, that you never knew existed, and you wanted to know he was all right. You admitted that you’d sort of named him William in your head. You apologized for trying to slap Aziraphale. You said you knew that Crowley must know something about the nuns and what they did with William, and you’d be willing to bargain with Crowley for William’s safety. He asked if you knew what usually happened to people who bargain with something like him. You said yes. You looked really frightened.

Crowley stared at you for a very long moment—pretty sure he was staring, even though he was wearing his dark glasses and it’s hard to be sure. Then he tossed his keys up in the air and said we were going for a drive.

We went. I think it frightened you a lot. I mean, you knew he was a demon, and you knew he was cross with you, and you weren’t sure where we were going, and—it must have taken a lot to get into that car.

Me, I think the way Crowley drives is wicked cool, like  _ The Fast and the Furious, _ but grown-ups don’t like it.

Anyway, we went to Tadfield Manor. Crowley was doing his best to be a little spooky—you know, doors opening in front of him, that sort of thing—and I could tell it was getting to you. I didn’t know if it would help or not, telling you not to be impressed because I can do the same thing if I want to, so I didn’t say anything. We went on inside.

Then we ran into this person. Sort of a businesswoman type. She took one look at Crowley and was about to turn and run, but he snapped his fingers and turned her off. I told him that I didn’t like it when he messed people about, and he said that the alternative was to just freeze her in place, and she would scream. He sort of snapped at you, “She’s one of the nuns. Ask your question.” So you asked.

She said, in a creepy-calm sort of voice, that the other baby, the one who was exchanged for—she had a bunch of titles for me, I don’t like any of ‘em—was taken away and given to someone called Lord Ligur, and Crowley said,  _ “Shit,” _ fiercely enough that you sort of jerked back.

He leaned his head back against the wall, and said, “Shit,” again, and I got the impression that he’d closed his eyes.

You asked him what that meant. You asked him if William was dead. He tried to say he didn’t know, but finally I told him to tell me the truth, and he said, “The baby would have survived for a while.  _ That’s not a good thing.” _

You made a noise. It was pretty awful, the noise you made.

I braced myself, sort of spreading my feet apart, and closed my eyes, and tried to look back. I was in the same place where it happened, that had to make it easier. I could hear, in the distance, Crowley telling me that I had to make small changes, I had to be smart, I wasn’t standing at the epicenter of history anymore, but I barely heard him. I was watching the two layers of things happen at the same time. Crowley driving up in the car with me, me being born the normal way, the American diplomat’s baby being born in the other room. I remember that I  _ almost _ thought I heard a woman’s voice, but it was talking about card games or something and it didn’t make any sense, so I ignored it. I tried to follow the other baby. Lost him for a little while, so I tried to go back to the beginning and keep him in the room with us.

And then, I could feel myself changing. Having a brother named William. But it was different,  _ I _ was becoming different, my whole personality was going different, and it frightened me so much I couldn’t breathe, so I  _ pushed _ the baby back out of the room with the nun, and reached back further, and wrenched it around so that they decided to put the extra baby up for adoption, and then I was back in the present and I realized that I’d sort of run out of whatever it is that makes minds go. It was like the time I tried to stay up for three nights running, except worse. Thoughts just didn’t move. I looked at the wall, and it didn’t have a name, it was just a blank that was in front of me, only in front of me didn’t have a name either.

I heard the nun running away. I heard you asking confused questions in the background. I felt Crowley catch me before I could fall over.

I remember muttering something about, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

Crowley said—it’s funny how clearly I remember this—”Shut it. Never apologize for keeping yourself intact. Never trust anyone who wants you to apologize for it. Martyrs make my skin crawl.” And he carried me back to the car.

Looking back on it, you must have been confused about even  _ being _ there. But I didn’t realize how time had changed right then. I remember you asking Crowley questions, in between begging him to slow down. I don’t think he answered them. I fell asleep somewhere between Tadfield Manor and home.

But you remember that bit. And you remember me sleeping off and on for most of two days.

The reason you don’t remember the rest of it, is because of Greasy Johnson. You remember Greasy Johnson, too. So do I. But only part of me remembers, because only part of me lived through the part of time when he happened. Greasy Johnson is William. The other baby.

I don’t think he knows he’s adopted.

The reason you don’t remember seeing my powers is because you never did. We were going to go up and play E.T, but we met Greasy Johnson and his gang on the way up the hill, and I came up with what I thought was a wicked cool insult from watching E.T, and he tried to pound me and there was a big scrum. We were all grounded for about thirty years, or until Monday.

So that’s what happened, only it didn’t entirely happen. Happened and didn’t happen, it all gets sort of muddled up.

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring William home. I’m sorry I flinched. I could say that I was afraid that being a twin to someone might have made the Apocalypse turn out differently, that it might have gone worse, but that’s not why I did it the way I did it. I was just frightened of being rewritten.

Crowley would tell me that I should never apologize for a little healthy selfishness, and Aziraphale would tell me that I should never apologize for being myself. But I’m still sorry.

I’m sorry about all of it.


	2. Reaction

_ Dear Mr. Crowley and Mr. Azirafael (sorry if spelled wrong), _

_ I am writing to thank you, and tell you that I’m sorry. Arthur would be writing too, but he’s spent a long time as a general manager and tends to slip into saying things like “mistakes occurred,” when he writes, and I want to avoid that. _

_ Adam is doing well, although he is tired. He went up to Hog Back Wood with his friends today, but he had to come home early. I would like your opinion on how long it will take him to recover fully, if you have one. This is all very new territory to me. _

_ The thanks I owe you are obvious, I think. You helped to save George Johnson’s life. Adam is my son, but I still have a connection to the Johnson boy, as if I gave up a child to adoption, so I am very grateful to you for keeping him safe. More than that, you’ve been supporting Adam and giving him advice. From what little Adam and I have talked about so far, it seems to me that your advice has been exactly what Adam needs to hear: “Never apologize for keeping yourself intact.” As he grows up, he will probably try to use his powers to do some good in the world, and there are dangers to that—not comic book dangers, but emotional dangers. I am a teacher, but I considered going into psychology, deciding not to partly because of the massive stress one can put oneself under trying to deal with other people’s pain. Adam will need the gift of walking away. You have been giving him that. Thank you. _

_ The apologies are also somewhat obvious. Firstly, I apologize for trying to slap you, Mr. Azirafael (sorry again for spelling). I don’t remember it, but I can assume that my emotions were up and I wasn’t thinking straight. I am absolutely not happy with the fact that you tried to shoot a brick at my son, but I understand why you did it. _

_ As sort of an addendum to the first apology, I apologize to Mr. Crowley for trying to slap Mr. Azirafael (sorry for spelling). I understand that you had to defend him from me, and I should never have put you in that position. _

_ Secondly, I apologize for the things I said to you, Mr. Crowley, on the way home from Tadfield Manor. From my point of view, it was uncertain how you had even talked us into going there, and we spoke to a peculiar woman who started talking about adoption for some reason, and then Adam nearly fainted. I was frightened for him and, I think, rather frightened of you. So I said several things which I wish I could take back, including accusing you of being responsible for Adam’s condition. You may or may not have ways of knowing this, but I took Adam to A&E after you dropped us off at home, telling them I was concerned about possible poisoning, which was an entirely unworthy suspicion on my part. (They diagnosed him with exhaustion.) _

_ I would appreciate a chance to start over with both of you. Arthur and I have discussed it, and we understand that you are important parts of Adam’s life now. As such, it would be appropriate for us to get to know each other. When would be best for you to come over? Do you eat at all, and if so, are there any foods I should avoid? I was imagining that we could have a small barbeque and invite Newt and Anathema as well, but it comes down to what’s best for you. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Deirdre Young _

§ 

_ Dear Mrs. Young, _

_ It is a pleasure to hear from you, and excellent to know that Adam is recovering from his efforts! If he were me, I would expect him to be back to normal within a week, but I have no idea how deep Adam’s well of energy is, or how long it takes to replenish. Adam is the new wonder of the world, you could say, and nobody is quite sure of his capabilities. I am, however, confident that he will be right as rain very soon. _

_ To answer your first question, I have spelled my name “Aziraphale” for roughly two centuries now, but it seems silly to quibble about spelling when I predate the English alphabet. You needn’t apologize for such trivial matters. In fact, I feel that you needn’t apologize to me at all. You were perfectly within your rights to try to slap me, and I somewhat wish that Crowley had allowed you to do so. You must understand, Crowley is rather over-vigilant about threats or even surprises, especially as they pertain to me. Before Armageddon, even the most passing hint of association between us could have spelled doom for us both. The centuries have made us both anxious about matters of safety. For Crowley, that manifests in a rather touching desire to protect me from all harm, and thus he overreacts on occasion. I realize you have no way of remembering it, but I must apologize for his role in frightening you. Rest assured that I understand your anger towards me, and I find it justified. I am honored and humbled that you are willing to forgive me. _

_ As for the matter of your words to Crowley after Tadfield Manor, I think he would rather the matter entirely forgotten. He realized that time had changed, just as I did, when our confrontation at Jasmine Cottage was subsumed under the new layer of reality. When events are altered that way, we both know that it is often difficult for humans to remember all of them. For instance, I am almost certain that my associate Sergeant Shadwell recalls little of Armageddon. (This may be a mercy, since Sergeant Shadwell has spent much of his life being terrified of he-knows-not-what, and it hardly seems fair to offer him more to be afraid of.) Otherwise, the various human participants seem to remember the parts that they were most directly involved in—the computers, or the Horsemen—and not the parts that they weren’t, such as Satan’s brief manifestation on Earth. All this is to say that Crowley was well aware that you wouldn’t understand his presence at Tadfield Manor, or your presence at Tadfield Manor, or Adam’s suddenly weakened condition, and he can hardly blame you for jumping to conclusions. _

_ As for your gratitude, I am flattered, but I feel it is rather undeserved on our part. Adam is the one responsible for rescuing young George. (Crowley offers his assurances that it is entirely impossible for Ligur, Duke of Hell to seek any sort of retribution over the child being rescued from him, and I can confirm that this is the case. Exactly why that should be is a story for Crowley, I think, if he chooses to tell it.) _

_ I also do not feel that we require any special thanks for our roles in Adam’s life. You credit us with good advice, but I know that we both frequently feel adrift when faced by the vagaries of adolescence. Adam can tell you more of what questions he has brought to us, but too often, we have had no answer for him besides, “We will help in any way we can.” We remain ready to help, not only because of Adam’s pivotal role in saving the world, but because we have become his friends. _

_ As you point out, it would be more than appropriate at this juncture to come to know each other better, and as such, we would be delighted to attend a barbeque with dear Anathema and Newton! If you tell me in advance what we will be having, I can bring a wine that will complement it. I do thoroughly enjoy eating, and have in fact made something of a hobby of it. Of all the human creative endeavors, cookery is the most ancient, and in some ways the most extraordinary. To take a necessity that could have been a chore, and make an art form out of it! I have been entranced by eating ever since Eve first discovered salt. (By licking a rock, as I recall. She always did have a forthright approach to exploring her environment, and, of course, diseases had not been invented.) Crowley is not as enthusiastic about eating, but he would be happy to attend. As we are both retired, we have few inalterable demands on our time, so please choose any day you see fit. I will see that the weather cooperates. _

_ Your humble servant, _

_ Aziraphale _

§ 

_ Don’t apologize to me. My forgiveness is useless to you anyway. Apologize to Adam. _

_ I think Adam would have emptied himself to save most babies. But he wouldn’t have risked his self, his personality, even for a moment, if he didn’t think you wanted that. He thought you wanted your “William” more than him. _

_ I don’t know whether you gave him that impression on purpose. Don’t care. Fix it. Then we’ll call it even and I’ll come to your barbeque. _

_ —C _

§ 

_ <strike>Mr. Crowley,</strike>_

<strike> _ You are no longer invited to associate with my family. How dare you insinuate_</strike>

§ 

_ <strike>Mr. Crowley</strike>_

<strike> _ From your letter, I doubt you have any appreciation of what a parent goes through, or of anything to do with family. Your rudeness is not appreciated. Adam knows I love him, and_</strike>

§ 

_ Dear Mr. Crowley, _

_ You are entirely right. I don’t remember the events of last week—that is, I don’t remember that version of last week—but from what Adam has said, I didn’t speak to him about it before I decided to find out what happened to “William,” now George Johnson. I did not want William instead of him, or William at the risk of him, but I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t  _ talk. _ I should have. I have apologized to him.  _

_ Adam has not said specifically, but I know that he’s a very clever boy in his way—not necessarily rocket-scientist clever, but extraordinarily observant about people. I find it hard to believe that he went through the events of last week without realizing that I was (would have been) absolutely petrified. The amount of power that Adam has is beyond anything I know how to deal with. It would be logical for Adam to assume that I feared  _ him specifically _ rather than just the things he could do, and logical for him to wonder about my love for him. I will do my best to make sure he never worries about it again. I have ordered some books on parenting adoptees—not that Adam is exactly an adoptee, but I think some of the principles are similar. It’s unfortunate that I can’t order a book about coping with magic powers. That, I’ll just have to negotiate on my own. _

_ Thank you for your candor, and all your help. How does the twentieth sound for a barbeque? _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Deirdre Young _

§ 

Deirdre remembered what Mr. Crowley was like. Or, at least, she remembered going back from Tadfield Manor. A man she didn’t know had picked up a fainting Adam, strode out the doors (which hastily got out of his way) without answering any of her increasingly frantic questions, and finally said, “Get in the car or be left behind, it’s your choice,” when she stood in front of him and demanded answers.

The second time she had asked the unknown man to slow down, he had given her a smile that was just as thin and knifelike as he was, twirled a CD into the CD player with a hand that crucially  _ wasn’t on the wheel, _ and accelerated hard to the unmistakable bassline of “Another One Bites The Dust.” Deirdre had spent the drive home torn between hurling accusations and hanging on for dear life. The worst bit was just as they turned onto Hog Back Lane, when he spotted R.P. Tyler, murmured, “One hundred points,” and  _ gunned the engine, _ forcing Deirdre’s elderly neighbor to leap for the bushes with his dog in his arms. The man had smirked, said, “Oh, dear. Miraculous escape,” and pulled into the Young’s driveway.

But he had carried Adam to his bedroom—Deirdre hadn’t been able to stop him—and laid him down gently.

Deirdre had been unable to imagine what sort of angel would fall in love with a person like that. Just based on the fact of  _ angel, _ she had expected someone sternly beautiful. Instead, she got a plump, comforting-looking man who would have charmed her instantly if she hadn’t suspected that he was  _ deliberately _ being sweet and nice and pleasant to the point where you could imagine being cursed at by Jane Austen more readily than you could imagine this man pointing a gun at a child, and your brain kept trying to shunt that fact off to the side, as if it didn’t matter.

Pepper, Wensley, and Brian hadn’t been invited to the barbeque. They arrived anyway. Adam and the Them strode up, four abreast, to stand in front of Mr. Crowley. He glowered at them, unimpressed. “What do you lot want?”

Silence, like some sort of Old West standoff. Pepper folded her arms.

At last—after a moment when, by all rights, a tumbleweed should have rolled by—Mr. Crowley said, “All right. You know the rules. Fifty points for Tyler’s dog, one hundred points for Tyler’s face. Stills are good, full motion video is better.” He tossed Adam a large packet. “Now get.”

With heart-stopping clarity, Deirdre registered the label on the packet.  _ LOTTAFUN WATER BALLOONS (100 PACK). _

“You didn’t,” she said faintly.

He grinned at her, and then walked—actually, the motion only had a few things in common with  _ walked— _ over to talk to Anathema.

Mr. Aziraphale was at her side. “He does get on very well with children,” he suggested, and guided her to one of the chairs to sit down.

§ 

Just as the meat was ready, the Them arrived in the garden again. In what seemed a simultaneous moment of chaos, the hedge seemed to explode and Mr. Crowley was abruptly drenched. It happened instantaneously. The shards of no fewer than five water balloons fell to earth around him.

Deirdre opened her mouth instinctively, getting ready to apologize for Adam—perhaps apologize  _ frantically _ for Adam, depending on how angry Mr. Crowley turned out to be. A literal demon, surely he would be raging at something like that—

“That was good,” Mr. Crowley acknowledged without rancor, and pushed sopping red hair out of his face.

Adam grinned. “I knew it would work if I beat you to the time-stop.”

“Not many people can time-stop a supernatural being without going to the Sands of Time,” Mr. Crowley said. “You may have invented something new. You’re back to normal, then.”

“Have been for about a week.”

“Good.” A slow, gleefully menacing smile crept across his face. “You’re going to need—”

_ “Dear,” _ Mr. Aziraphale said, with a certain amount of emphasis. “The food is ready.”

Mr. Crowley somehow managed to give the distinct impression that he’d rolled his eyes, without ever showing his eyes. “You’re not off the hook, you lot. I  _ will _ get you.”

_ Thank you, _ Deirdre mouthed at Mr. Aziraphale.

He gave back a smile that was far too angelic to qualify as  _ impish, _ but seemed to flirt with the designation nevertheless.

§ 

“Hang on,” Arthur said, sounding a little choked. “When you say you met in  _ the _ Garden, you mean—”

“Just after Adam and Eve were forced out,” Mr. Aziraphale said, “he slithered up and started talking to me. Not because he was  _ meant _ to, not because it was his job, but because he felt like it. That may have been the moment I actually noticed that I was lonely.”

“It was definitely the moment I decided there was such a thing as an interesting angel,” Mr. Crowley said. They exchanged a besotted look.

“Slithered?” Deirdre repeated faintly.

“At any rate, we kept bumping into each other all through history. Never actually managing to hate each other the way both our sides were certain we should. Gradually, it became a sort of Arrangement. It was a long time before either of us admitted it was more than that."

"Longer for you than for me," Mr. Crowley said. "My side never actually hid its bastardry. It’s more difficult when they pretend to be nice at you.”

That was the moment when Adam burst into the garden again, trailed by the Them and then a larger boy that Deirdre recognized. Her stomach gave a sudden flip. She knew who he was—of course she knew who he was, he was the same age as Adam and they’d been feuding their entire lives—except they hadn’t. Had. Hadn’t. Both.

She had the sudden urge to say  _ hello, William. _ But that wasn’t his name. He wasn’t hers.

A number of other boys filed into the garden behind Greasy Johnson.

The Johnson boy checked himself as soon as he noticed the adults, and marched up to Arthur and Deirdre. “The Them got my mate with a water balloon,” he announced, and pointed to Harry Bievens, who was doing a remarkable imitation of a drenched weasel. To Deirdre’s mind, Harry looked like a weasel most of the time anyway, a natural henchman in the making.

Mr. Crowley leaned forward abruptly, a sort of uncoiling motion. Then, as Deirdre watched, his tongue flicked out— _ not _ a human tongue, not at the moment, but a double-pointed snake’s tongue, testing the air.

Slithered. It hadn’t been a metaphor.

Oh, dear.

The Johnson boy, for his part, was wide-eyed.  _ “Wicked,”  _ he breathed. “Do that again?”

“I’m not a circus attraction,” Mr. Crowley said. He looked at Mr. Aziraphale. “Thaddeus Dowling Junior.”

“Are you  _ sure? _ I know he looks it, but—”

“Positive. I lived in the same house, I know what he smells like. Bit different from different food, but it’s there.” He shifted his focus to Harry Bievens. “Drowned rat. Who drowned you?”

“Wensleydale,” Harry muttered. Wensley drew himself up and threw out his meager chest.

“Obviously,” Mr. Crowley said, “you have the right to demand satisfaction.”

Newt opened his mouth and was instantly quelled by Anathema. Both Harry and Wensleydale looked nervous. “You wot?” Greasy asked.

“Can’t do water balloons, you’ve already done water balloons, and swords are right out. Right then.” He tossed Harry Bievens a coin. “The team which manages to stick their coin in the most inaccessible spot wins. No help from adults, no special help from Adam. Photos absolutely required for proof. Oh, and the coin needs to stay there, not fall off right away. Bonus points if it’s obvious enough for someone to try to get at it.  _ Double _ bonus if you can get amusing video of them trying, and I decide what’s amusing. Don’t look so betrayed, Adam, I thought I sent you out to harass pensioners. If you pick a fight it’s your own lookout.” The other coin was flipped neatly to Wensley.

The two gangs separated. For a moment, Deirdre heard heated whispering from beyond the hedge, and then Brian said, “I  _ know _ you’re  _ spying _ on us, Bievens,” and the whispering receded.

“That was well done,” Anathema said.

Even though it was technically encouraging vandalism, Deirdre found that she had to agree. The boys, at least, weren't fighting. They might even get so caught up in their task that they forgot about fighting.

“Of course it was well done,” Mr. Crowley said, with a level of irony only available to the actual Serpent of Eden, “don’t you trust me?” He apparently didn’t require or want an answer to that. “Adam’s biological brother is in America. I think I’ve finally figured out how the switch went. And  _ possibly _ even how the nuns tricked themselves.”

“You’re sure?” Deirdre said, feeling forlorn.

“Would I lie to you?”

There was a short silence.

“No,” Mr. Aziraphale said quietly, “he wouldn’t. Not about important things, anyway. It took me longer than I’d care to admit to learn that.”

Deirdre wasn’t sure what to say to that, so instead she offered, “You’re good with kids.” Less good with R.P. Tylers. Less good at writing letters that didn’t make a person cry tears of rage before they cried about what they had done. But good with kids. Possibly good for Adam.

Mr. Crowley shrugged. “I like kids.”

It wasn’t  _ not-awkward. _ It might never be  _ not-awkward. _ But at least it was something.

§ 

Diary of George Johnson

_ That git Adam apologized to me today. Said he was sorry for calling me penis-breath and “all the other” and gave me a poster with some reef fish on it. I guess that’s what most people know about me: I like fish. I mean, first of all, that poster was  _ salt-water _ fish and I keep  _ fresh-water _ fish, so it’s obvious that he doesn’t really care, but I thanked him anyway. Don’t know what he was up to. Worries me a bit. Adam can be sneaky and Pepper bites. _

_ Kept the poster though. _

_ Worried about Beethoven in Tank Number 3. Bach and Mozart keep bullying her out of her hiding places. Too much of that and I’ll have to move her to Tank Number 2, which will throw off the naming. I can’t have Beethoven and Picasso in the same tank, it just won’t work. Maybe rename her. Have to google some artists. _


End file.
